My father ruined me and my moms life by being an insecure psychopath and telling me that he was God himself.
As the title of the story explains, my father was a monster that took pleasure in emasculating me and abusing my mother who has been passed from this world over a year ago. I was a 90's kid that lived in the deep south of Alabama. A small quiet place where the nearest town was twenty minutes. This isolation played a part in my psychological issues that I will discuss. My parents married young, due to my dad knocking her up and being pregnant with me. At first things were normal. While we lived isolated, I did have other cousins and family friends I could hang out with and play, but that all changed when I was somewhere between seven or eight years old. My memories of him back then were actually pleasant, he was southern, a farm boy, and a hard working man. He continued to provide for us, so we were never truly poor, although we did have our struggles. But somewhere along the way he changed completely and became the monster that haunts me to this day.
Like I said, he did provide for us and so did my mom. She worked as an insurance agent. But eventually he would use his paycheck as an excuse for his extreme bad behavior. Like I said, things started to get bad when I was seven or eight years old. Slowly he stopped letting my mom and me go and see our relatives, besides my grandparents, but even then he would often interrogate me. Asking me questions such as, "What did you do?" or "What did you say?" leaving me confused to why he was acting like this which would end in me trying to sink into the truck seat out of fear. That would only make things worse and he would continue his traditional rant that haunts me to this day. The rant was all over the place, but usually he said I was was a waste of everyone's time, that I didn't deserve anything, and that I should be on my knees thanking him because he was my God. Yes he said that a lot.
I will be honest, I wasn't the perfect kid, I made mistakes just like any kid, nothing extreme just simply the growing pains of life. I understand "tough love" or hard-life lessons, but what he did and continued to do had no rhyme or reason to it as I will continue to explain.
My mom and I were becoming more isolated due to his erratic behavior. We did occasionally go to a water park or maybe a local park, but that would often lead to the same thing over and over again. We went somewhere, we came back, and we would be interrogated by my father with the same old song and dance. It got to a point to where I didn't want to go anywhere just to avoid him yelling and screaming at me. The only social interaction I had was at a small public school that no longer exists today. It was just a k-8 kind of school. I eventually went to another school to complete my education. But I had no friends due to a lack of social experience, plus he had put it in my head that he was always watching me even in school. I know regular people could see this as a parent messing with their kid, but due to the isolation and his behavior I really did believe it. I genuinely believed he was like God and had an all seeing eye in the sky.
I tried doing sports, but he always refused until my mom convinced him to let me take kickboxing classes at somewhere local, but he would do the same thing and then something much worse. After a year of kick boxing, my father said that he wanted to see how good of a fighter I was and wanted us to box outside. This terrified me, but I did what he said. Keep in mind I am a short dude and my dad was 6'2 in height. He towered over me and continue to do so to this day. When he went outside, he asked me to try to hit him. At first I couldn't, he would always use his longer limbs to push me away until eventually I did manage to jab him in the stomach. It wasn't a hard punch. Worst thing it did was make him step back and gasp for air for only a second.
I thought he would be proud of me for finally landing a punch, but my hopes were foolish. He looked at me for one second, and suddenly he charged at me, kicked me in my groin and grabbed my head and pushed me to the ground. While I was on the ground in pain with tears in my eyes, my dad leaned down and whispered in my ear. "Don't tell your mom or I will kill you." I was left confused. What was the point in all this? I thought he wanted me to fight back? I thought he was wanting to see what I learned? It wasn't until I learned now as an adult that he just wanted an excuse to hit me. Even to this today I never told my mom what he did. I was to afraid too. Like he said, he was my God.
As for their marriage. It was very toxic. My mom loved me, but eventually she was starting to become a hollow shell of what she was. She rarely smiled anymore and I was the same way. We were simply living in so much fear of him. I wish she had divorced him, but at the same time if she hadn't then I wouldn't have had my brother in life. I didn't have my brother until I was twenty years old. I know what it is like to be only child and a sibling at the same time. Weird world huh?
To make this story a little shorter, this cycle would continue through even my adult life. I didn't do anything in high school or make any friends, because I knew what my dads answer would be. "No". I simply did the bare minimum and graduated. My parents would always fight, my dad would always blame me for imaginary things. My birthdays became something I would dread. The rest of my family was unaware of my abuse. They would always give me gifts that I appreciated. But I dreaded those gifts because my dad would do the same thing he always did. Complain that I was useless, no matter what I did to appease him, saying everyone was wasting their time on me, and lastly that he was my God.
Eventually wherever we went, family gatherings or those rare social events I would find an empty room and just stay in there until it was time to go. Refusing to socialize with anyone, due to the fear he instilled on me. I thought that would help, but it didn't. He would always find imaginary excuses to yell and scream at me. My mom and I try to find activities he would enjoy or buy him gifts from her own money to show we supported him, but he would always complain about the gift and continue his ritualistic spiel about how we were nothing without him. It was hell to put it simply.
Later on in my adult life he wouldn't left me have a job until I was twenty. Called me a bum and said I needed to work, forgetting that I begged him for three years to let me have job just so I could get out the house and do something. I did have a car if you were wondering. A 2003 Toyota Camry that they got for a very good deal, but my dad would do his same speech every time. "We are suffering because of you, I will be watching you wherever you go, or your nothing without me".
I drove that car to school and nowhere else. When I had a job I only drove there. I had to beg him several times to let me socialize with other people, but it was always the same. I didn't leave home until I was twenty-seven. I will get to that in a minute. He became distracted when my brother was born. It took some his attention off of me, but whenever he suspected I would be dating someone (rare occasions), he would say " You know all woman are whores? or why would anyone want to date you?" Needless to say I didn't keep too many relationships. I never understood why my father acted this way towards me and to this day I never will. Truth be told I don't even know that much about my father. He would never tell me anything.
I tried to go to college, but I couldn't do it. He was always in my head telling his same old speech. I couldn't do anything, I was useless, etc. I tried twice, but I gave up. I just simply kept to whatever job I had and stuck to it like a loyal lapdog.
My brother was born when I was in my twenties and I love that little boy to death. For some reason my father never did abuse him like he did me. He was always kinder and softer to him than me. Again I never understood why and honestly I don't think there is a logical reason behind it. Regardless I still loved him. No jealousy. I would never wish him to suffer the same abuse that I suffered for this mad redneck.
This cycle of abuse would continue throughout my life. I tried to leave several times , but he would never let me go, and neither would my mom at this point. He kept her secluded to the point where I was her only social interaction besides my father and my brother. I tried enlisting in the military, but she would always guilt me with the same excuse, " Don't leave me with him." Like a fool I fell for it every time. This cycle of madness would continue until I was twenty-seven on one faithful night when I finally fought back against my dad and it scared the crap out of him.
My parents were having another fight in the middle of the night. I went to go comfort my brother who was seven at the time in the room next to mine. I just sat there with him and told him everything would be ok and that I was here for him. Until my dad stormed in his bedroom, drunk and in his underwear. He told me to get out and come to the kitchen. I did so and followed him. He proceed to do the same thing as before. Yell and scream at me for everything. It was the usual gospel he would preach until he said one thing that triggered my anger. "Your wasting your life away, you are not doing anything with your life, you are a bum."
Finally after years of this abuse, I had enough. I screamed at him that he would never left me have a life, that his paranoia was ruining our family, and that nothing in this world would ever make him happy. He then punched in the face. I didn't fall down. For the first time in my life I took the punch and managed to stand my ground. I didn't even feel it until two days later. The punch made my face turn to the left and I looked back at him and I pushed him to the wall. This man who was a giant compared to me, this man that proclaimed himself to be God (despite him never going to church) throughout my life , was suddenly terrified that we was being attacked by his own son. He had the nerve to be surprised that any of this was happening.
Before I could do anything, my mom stopped me from doing anything else. He then told me to pack my bags and get out of the house. Telling me I had twenty minutes. So i did, but every five minutes, he would come into my room while I was packing my bags, wanting to continue our fight. I would find something I could use to defend myself, a pocket knife or even my own little tv and told him to stay away from me. That I would leave and for him to stop interrupting me for another fight that he lost.
I did leave and my dads mom who is a saint that I love to do this day. Gave me somewhere to stay. Its an old trailer made in the 90s that is slowly falling apart, but I was thankful to have somewhere to stay. I have stayed there to this day. I tried to tell her everything that had happened and she was shocked and didn't know what to do. How do you tell your grandma that one of her sons is a crazed psychopath that proclaimed himself God throughout my entire life? Eventually I just stopped trauma dumping on her and just tried to get over everything, but I couldn't. The damaged still remained.
My mom stayed married to my dad, until she passed away a year and a half ago. Their marriage only got worse when I left. While I was at work she would call me a few times just to cry on the phone, not talk, not seek comfort just cried constantly. I didn't know what to do. She wouldn't let me help her. She had me in tears every time she did. As for my dad, he never apologized he told everyone that I went crazy and attacked him for no reason. Luckily, not many people believed him, but it still hurt that he lied to cover his own tracks.
I am now thirty-four today and writing this. My life is in ruins because I been struggling to find a job due to the economy. I started drinking to cope with my mental illness. The only way I can describe it, is that my dad is in my head constantly yelling at me. No exaggeration, that is exactly how it feels to me. I have no relationships, friendships, only my family and my brother that thankfully everyone been keeping an eye on now that everyone knows of my dads psychopathic habits.
Finally the reason I am writing all this. I won't lie there is a lot more to the story and a lot of terrible things that he did, but to honest, I would have to write a whole novel to detail everything that happened to me and my mother. My mother deserved a lot better. I need to be a better person. I got in trouble recently. DUI. Nothing major. Nobody got hurt. But Alabama laws are strict about this sort of thing. I let the demon in my life control me for so long. I regret my actions and want to be a better person and get the proper help I need.
This story is the first step in the process of mental recovery from my traumatizing experience. I just want a normal life, with regular friends, and possibly a wife that can stand to be around me. I want to apologize I didn't get the help a lot sooner. I been afraid my whole life, but I don't want fear to control me anymore. I don't want to drink to silence this rednecks voice out of my head. It was a struggle to write this. I can hear him screaming at me as we speak. I know its not real. But it doesn't help to know that. Part of me still feels like I am there as I speak. I feel like this is the right thing to do. The first step to a very long journey. Oh, the journey will be long. But compared to the isolation I lived in. A journey is better than nothing. Thank you, have a good night. Be safe.
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